


Peppermint Kisses

by aurumnix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Can't Stop Staring, Christmas baking, Dean Is A Sneaky Bastard, Dean secretly loves Christmas, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurumnix/pseuds/aurumnix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean looks gorgeous.</p><p>He moves with an easy grace, feet gliding across the floor as though he is floating. When he turns, there are glimpses of the laid-back smile on his face, and his eyes are bright. Dean’s tall frame radiates warmth and cheer; it’s obvious from the lack of tension in his shoulders, the languid way he holds himself upright - hip jutted out, leaning against the counter, right leg bent. Dean is comfortable, happy, at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's](hwkbarton.tumblr.com) my writing Tumblr, and [here's](punkstcky.tumblr.com) my main Tumblr. Enjoy reading, darlings!

Dean looks gorgeous.

He moves with an easy grace, feet gliding across the floor as though he is floating. When he turns, there are glimpses of the laid-back smile on his face, and his eyes are bright. Dean’s tall frame radiates warmth and cheer; it’s obvious from the lack of tension in his shoulders, the languid way he holds himself upright - hip jutted out, leaning against the counter, right leg bent. Dean is comfortable, happy, at home. 

‘No,’ Castiel’s brain amends, ‘he _is_ home.’

He watches Dean flutter about the kitchen. He knows Dean doesn’t like being watched - “Cas, bud, it’s _weird_ and _creepy_ ” - but Castiel can’t help himself. Dean is a spectacle the angel had never seen the likes of in all his millennia of walking this earth. Dean is light when he thinks he is darkness, the good shrouded in mistaken evil. Dean is beautiful in all his humanity; it’s hardly Castiel’s fault he finds himself enraptured in everything Dean does and is.

But he can’t keep doing this. A shameful blush dusts Castiel’s face, and the tips of his ears turn into a darker shade of pink. He averts his gaze. It might have been easier just to remove himself from the room - the bunker has a plethora of them that Castiel has yet to wander into - but he’s grounded by Dean’s presence.

He shuffles uncomfortably, stare still pointed at the pale tiles. It’s only a minuscule movement, but Dean is a hunter, and he notices before Castiel has the chance to react.

“ _Jesus_ , Cas, how long have you been standing there?” Dean nearly drops the bowl he’s holding, oblivious to the dark-haired angel’s presence until now.

Castiel mumbles something unintelligible. His complexion turns even darker. Despite getting his Grace back, the lingering habits of his human nature remain. Angels didn’t blush, didn’t suddenly feel hot underneath their collars, and angels certainly didn’t experience the pitter-patter of his heart beating erratically in his chest.

Dean is only confused, and he cocks his head. Castiel can sense those impossibly green eyes burning into him. “Sorry, what?” Cas is almost tempted to reply sarcastically, but he bites his tongue and clears his throat. He opens his mouth to respond, but Dean is impatient, and he’s already forgotten his earlier scare.

Before long, Castiel finds himself whisked into a world of flour, sugar, and eggs. Dean has a fondness for cooking and the holidays, though he stubbornly refuses to admit the latter. Castiel rolls his eyes at that. The little Christmas tree and snowman cookies say otherwise.

Castiel is invested in his work, rolling out the dough, cutting out more cookies in several different patterns, puts them in the oven. It takes him a while, but when he does, it makes his heart jump into his throat.

What Castiel first assumes as the underground bunker’s heater turning on is not quite it.

Dean is _humming._ The low bass thrumming in Castiel’s ears are the notes to “Santa Baby,” and it fills the air surrounding the both of them. Blue eyes wide, Castiel stops what he’s doing subconsciously, entranced by the other man. He can’t quite put a finger on the sensations Castiel is intensely feeling right at that moment, and it scares him because he’s fairly sure he can figure it out if he really thinks about it.

He can’t look away in time, and Dean is staring at him. He guiltily sucks at a candy cane (supposedly for a cake he had been decorating), and Castiel is frozen, stuck looking at the candy cane - at Dean’s lips. They’re puckered around the confection, pink and soft, _and Castiel wants to kiss him._ The desire washes over him like a tidal wave; he wants to press his lips against the hunter’s to see if they were as soft as they looked, to taste the peppermint on his tongue, to flood his senses with Dean and nothing but Dean.

It seems like ages, but they’re startled by the chime of the timer. Castiel jumps and looks away, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean rub the back of his neck. “The, um, cookies are done,” he says dumbly. “Yeah,” Dean replies all too quickly, hurrying to the oven.

He hears the clatter of metal as Dean pulls the tray out and sets it down to cool off. “I’ll decorate them,” Castiel offers. He’s looking at anything, anywhere but Dean, so he really can’t blame anyone but himself when he nearly falls over from colliding with him.

Strong arms wrap around his waist before Castiel can hit the floor, and he’s hauled back on his feet, chest against Dean’s and nose merely centimeters away from his. Castiel’s eyes are like a deer’s in headlights, and Dean hesitates before breaking out into a sly half-smile.

“Well, hey there, Cas,” he chuckles. The candy cane is gone. Castiel is too terrified to move away, too hypnotized by the movement’s of Dean’s mouth. ‘No, don’t look there,’ he admonishes himself quietly. “Yes, h-hello, Dean.”

“Are ya gonna move so I can get to the sink?”

Castiel is tempted to say ‘no’. Instead, he wills himself to disentangle himself from Dean. A rather undignified gasp tumbles out of Cas’s mouth when Dean refuses and pulls him ever closer. “Mm, on second thought, I think..”

Is Castiel hallucinating, or has Dean’s voice gotten lower? And those green eyes are staring again, but Castiel detects.. nervousness? Uncertainty?

He doesn’t have the time to think about it - or think at all, really - because before he knows it, his senses are overwhelmed with the taste and smell of peppermint -

_And Dean._

He feels lips against his own, and at first, Castiel is too shocked to do anything. Dean’s grip on him tightens, and Castiel is jarred out of his state and now, now they’re kissing. Castiel’s hands grasp the back of Dean’s neck, and he eagerly accepts Dean. His heart is pounding against his sternum, his ears are ringing, and his mind is filled with nothing but Dean.

It’s centuries - Castiel is sure it’s at least been that long - before they part. His chest is heaving, mouth red and plump and slick with spit. Dean is the same, and Castiel almost buckles against another big urge to pull Dean back to him. The taste of peppermint is on his tongue.

Dean is grinning, and he looks brighter and happier than Castiel has ever seen him, and he begins to smile back at him, too. Castiel looks at the man in front of him.

And yes, Castiel thinks Dean looks gorgeous.


End file.
